


Love Games

by pinkpeppermintpatties



Category: Carry On - Fandom
Genre: A WHOLE LOT OF PINING, Baz is royalty, Competition, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Magic, Pining, Simon... is not, baz is a little disaster, truman show-esque
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2019-10-20 05:35:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17616491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkpeppermintpatties/pseuds/pinkpeppermintpatties
Summary: Malcom Grimm is dead. His soul died a long time ago, with his wife, in a nursery, but the rest of him finally joined. Now the throne is empty, and the Mage wants it.Simon Snow is enlisted by none other than the prince himself, Basilton Grimm-Pitch to be his... boyfriend?





	1. Baz Gets A Rather Upsetting, Rather Annoying, Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is more the prologue than a first chapter, but here it is! This fic is based off of an Adventure Time episode, also under the name of Love Games. I won’t spoil too much, but Simon and Baz basically have to fool an entire kingdom into thinking they're in love. Won’t be too hard for Baz, right?

**Baz**

  
My father is dead. He died in his sleep. Peacefully. And I was set to take the throne. That’s all there was to it. The coronation was to be in three weeks. I had practiced my lines and we had done about fifty practice runs. Something had yet to go wrong. Nothing would’ve gone wrong. I would’ve taken my father’s place as his sole eligible heir. I would’ve ruled rightfully and justly.

That’s all there was supposed to be to it. But of course. Of course the Mage—the fucking Mage—had other plans. Other stupid plans to take over in this moment of vulnerability. His letter arrived in the mail three (three! That’s it!) weeks before the coronation. The scent of the paper, like a field of roses, wafted and infected the room. His seal, a family crest, if you will, closed the envelope, inviting me to rip it apart.

  
“Sir, are you going to open it?” Vera looks at me, politely, but firmly.

  
“I’d rather not. Vera, please,” I cover my nose to block the smell and wave it away like a child. Vera rolled her eyes, but compiles. She picks up the envelope from where she had dropped it on my desk and tears open the seal. Once the envelope was discarded of and the letter was unprotected by the barrier of paper it once had, the smell intensified. It gives me a headache and burns my nostrils.

  
“To whom it may concern,” Vera begins, “it seems that I, the Mage, have found reason to attempt to make claim to the throne. It appears I am related to the recently deceased king, and being the current heir’s senior, am entitled to challenge the heir for ascension. The criteria, of course, being that I maintain a stable relationship with someone who can inherit the throne if something were to become of me, is filled to the greatest extent it can be. With this in my mind, take care to remember the current heir has no significant other to take his place and no other heirs. King Malcolm’s other children do not meet the standards of having been born by King Malcolm’s first wife and Queen Daphne is not allowed to rule alone as she is not native to this land. Thank you for your time, and I will see you shortly for the competition regarding who is fit to rule. Best of luck to you, Tyrannus. Sincerely yours, the Mage.”

  
Vera looks up from the letter to meet my eyes. “Sir, Basilton, is this true? Can the Mage rightfully take the throne under these circumstances?” Her eyes are pleading, looking for word he is wrong.

  
I shake my head slowly, affirming her fears. “It’s, regrettably, true. A stupid rule created by some bloody stupid ancestors.” I can feel my face heating up as I ball my hands into fists. “Vera. Start a new letter. Addressed to the Mage. I have things I’d like to say.”

  
“Of course.” Vera nods and hurries to find a quill and paper, “Whenever you’re ready, sir.”

  
“Davy,” I like addressing him by his real name. It makes me feel more powerful (even if I don’t know his last name. Finding out “Davy” was his first name was hard enough in and of itself). “Davy,” I repeat, “thank you for your correspondence however it seems that you are mistaken. I do have a partner that I have been keeping out of public eye for reasons that may soon become apparent. You have forced me to make my relationship known, and for this I curse you, but I am willing to do so if it means taking my father’s place. I’m sorry to be the one to break the news to you, but I hope you do understand. Cordially, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, Heir to the Grimm throne.”

  
“Sir, as much of a fan am I of dashing the Mage’s attempts, you do not have a “significant other”, as you put it,” Vera voices her concerns.

  
“Ah, yes,” I nod my head in agreement, “I don’t. Not at the moment. But I will. In two days time, men from across the village will be swarming the palace, seeking to partake in a “top secret” job their prince has for them. Of course, the job will be to feign my partner, but I will also chose someone to work in a fake job, one the public will know about, to avoid questions. I have known about this clause for a while and figured it was only a matter of time before the Mage found out about it as well.” I folded my hands on my desk.

  
“I see. Well, shall I send for the town crier?”

  
“I think you shall. Thank you and that will be all, Vera.”

  
“Of course.”

 


	2. Chapter 1 - Simon, Baz is Plotting!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny has some hot goss on one Baz Pitch, Simon says he doesn't care. Of course, he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the prolonged wait for this update, I was really busy but now I should have more time to write, and subsequentially, post! I hope you like this chapter! Let me know what you think, the comments and kudos really keep me going and feeling inspired lol

**Simon**

“Simon. You have to. How is this even a question? You have to at least find out if the offer is legit, right?” Penny says, bewildered. She stands in front of me, hair a crazy red and eyes even crazier. She paces in front of me while wildly gesticulating. “Simon, haven’t you been waiting for this your entire life?”

“To work for Baz? No, actually, I haven’t.” I roll my eyes even though I knew that wasn’t what she was talking about.

“No, you git. For once, Baz might  _actually_ be plotting something! And you're not even interested in entertaining the possibility?” I am. In fact, ever since Penny off-handily mentioned that the soon to be king had something up his sleeve, a secret job for someone, my interests had been piqued. She said she had overheard some guys at the market talking about a job the prince had. A secret job that may not even be legal. I mean, she was right, after all. I had been waiting forever to catch Baz right in the middle of a plot. The need to catch him red-handed had subsided considerably since I was eleven, and technically last year would’ve been my last real opportunity anyway. We had just graduated from Watford only three days ago, but Baz had no time for a break. The death of his father propelled him straight into reigning. He’d actually had to start at the end of the school year. During exams. I’m not sure how he would’ve survived juggling his grades and the kingdom if he weren’t so bloody brilliant. Or maybe he just bribed the teachers with higher pay once he’s king. Whatever works, I guess.

“It’s just not as important to me anymore I guess.” It is.

“You’re lying.” I am.

“No, I just don’t really care anymore!” I threw my hands in the air. Penny looks me dead in the eye, clear she wasn’t relenting that easy.

“You know I would do it,” she starts, “if I wasn’t a girl. I mean, it’s kind of sexist he’s asking for a guy, right?” Penny stares me down, arms akimbo, as it was obvious there was a wrong answer to this question.

“I’m sure Baz has a good reason asking for a guy. He’s a lot of things, but sexist isn’t one of them.” I shrug my shoulders. Penny relaxes a little and nods.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “yeah.” She let her arms drop from her sides. She slides down next to me on her bed. There isn’t that much room, but neither of us minded that much. We’re used to sharing. The times I didn’t stay at Watford or go to care homes during school breaks, I went to Penny’s. Her mum wasn’t the hugest fan of me, being the Mage’s Heir and all, but she tolerated me. I didn’t make a mess and I helped around the house. It balanced out.

Penny rests her head on my shoulder. “Are you going to miss me when the Mage finally moves you away?” She asks quietly, completely opposite from her attitude seconds ago.

I’m startled by the question but unsurprised. The Mage had been talking about removing me from Watford for a while, since the Humdrum first surfaced really, and sending me away. Far away. So far the Humdrum couldn’t hurt England anymore, because it would be following me instead. Now that I was out of school, and with no guardian other than the Mage, it wouldn't take more than a few words to get me in a new country across the world.

“God, Penny. Of course, I would miss you,” I respond, “ _if_ he took me away.” I added. Penny wraps her hand around mine.

“I know you trust him, but, Si, the Mage... he doesn’t know what's best for you. How does he even know the Humdrum would follow you anyway?”

“He doesn’t. But he thinks it would”, I admit quietly. We sit like that for a while. The air is heavy and hot and makes me uncomfortable. My hand starts to sweat in hers, but we hold tight. The way someone holds onto an important piece of paper when it's windy out because if you let go, your whole world might slip away.

“Fine,” I concede, “I’ll see if there’s any job. I bet your information’s spotty anyway. When I show up tomorrow, no one will be there and Baz will ask me ‘what the fuck I’m doing in his castle’ and I’ll look like a bloody idiot but it will be worth it because when I come home I will get to point my finger in your face and say ‘I told you so’.”

Penny perks up instantly and gives my hand a satisfied squeeze.

“Oh, you won’t regret it. Whatever the job is, I hope you get it,” she says, but her face falls. “Oh no. Simon, you see what you’ve done? You’ve got me wondering what Baz is plotting in that head of his as if he’s even plotting in the first place!” She shakes her head and I laugh. We forget about the Mage taking me away.

 

* * *

 

I decide to get up bright and early which, Penny informed me three hours later, was unnecessary because she was going to magick us to the palace, anyway. She grabs my hand and casts a quick spell. Her hand makes circles in the air and her purple ring glows brilliantly. It illuminates the room with a soft purple glow, casting shadows throughout. Suddenly, I feel a sharp tug in my gut in the direction of the castle. It’s as if someone hooked me by the stomach and is dragging me like a fish. My hand holding Penny’s burns gently and it’s all I can do not to reel back, knowing that if I did I would get lost somewhere, spliced into the world.

When we land outside the castle walls, Penny drops my hand. She starts to twist her ring around her finger.

“Si, I was thinking, and,” she focuses on her ring, “maybe you should really try for this job? The money it pays…” she meets my stare. “You could leave the Mage. For real. You’re eighteen, you can become your own guardian…”

I square my shoulders. “I’ll try for the job,” I tell her, steadily. I don’t respond to the Mage part. “Thanks for the lift. See you later,” I say, turning my body to walk away already. I’m a few steps away before I hear footsteps running towards me and Penny’s hand on my back.

“I mean it, Simon.”

“I know."

 

* * *

  

The entrance to the main hall of the castle is filled with men, vying for a spot on the prince’s payroll. There are a few men who are obviously unfit for any role, too old, too pompous, too shady. But there are more eligible people than I had expected, considering I thought this all is a farce, anyway.

I push my way through the sea of people to the front of the room. A woman with her hair pulled back into a neat bun and dressed in a black dress is seated at a desk, behind bars, akin to a teller’s desk at a bank. Next to her desk is a single wooden door. It’s unclear where it leads but when the next person is called to the front, the women presses a button that emits a low buzzing sound and the door unlocks. The man slips through, nodding towards the woman in thanks. She smiles sweetly at him before turning her attention back at me. She peers up at me from behind a pair of half-moon glasses. Her face is kind, but it’s obvious this woman is not going to take any shit from anybody.

“How can I help you?” She asks politely. Her thin lips, painted with red lipstick, are stretched into a smile.

“Uh,” I fiddle with my fingers, “I’m here about a job?”

She looks down at the papers strewn about her desk, but finds my eyes again and frowns slightly, “I’m sorry, I see nothing here about a job opportunity. Perhaps you’re at the wrong place?” As if I could mistake the castle for the wrong building.

“Ah, well, in any case, I’m here to, uh, conference, with the prince. My name is Simon Snow, he knows me.” I figure if this lady wasn’t going to tell me anything, I might as well try to get Baz to tell me something.

“I’m sorry, I can't prioritize you because you know the prince. My sincere apologies. But please, take a number! We’ll make sure to get to you.” The woman motions to a ticket dispenser and the floating numbers above it. In twinkling lights, the number reads “8” but, to my dismay, the number I pull reads “102”. I have a while to wait.

As daylight fades and the day stretches on, more people file into the prince’s castle to interview and even more file out. Every now and then people leave with cocky expressions plastered to their faces, making me nervous. I keep reminding myself that I don’t really care whether I got the job or not, but Penny’s words keep running through my head. I’m eighteen, I could be my own guardian…

My thoughts are interrupted when the ticket in my hand starts to buzz and heat up. The yellow paper glows orange and the number above the ticket dispenser shows my number. I lift myself from off the floor where I had taken up residence and walk to the front. I show my paper to the lady behind the counter and she nods.

“Good luck,” she says, earnestly, and winks.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” I give her a curt wave and go through the door. Behind it, I find a nearly endless hallway with a single door at the end. There’s nowhere to go but forward. So I do.

The door at the end of the hallway is by no means as hefty looking as the preliminary door, but it was definitely built to keep uninvited guests out. Tentatively, I knock on door unsure whether anybody on the other side would hear it. Apparently, someone does because from behind the door I hear a muffled, “come in”.

I push the door open to reveal a large office with Baz seated facing me. Bookshelves line the walls and a large window is put in place behind the desk. Baz is looking down at papers on his desk when I walk in, so he doesn’t realize who I am.

“Please, take a seat,” he says, motioning to the chair across from him.

“Thanks,” I shuffle around and drop down into it. Baz finally looks up from the papers he’s examining and his eyes widen, then narrow.

“Snow, leave. Serious inquiries only,” He gestures to the door.

“This is a serious inquiry!” I argue.

“Fine,” he sighs, “but I’m not going to assess you differently because you were my roommate,” he eyes me.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect you to anyway,” I cross my arms on my chest.

“How did you hear about this position?” He begins.

“Penny. Who heard about it in the market. I thought she was crazy… but I guess not…” I answer, looking around at the office. It’s warm. Not physically, no, it’s more like the room makes me feel warm inside. It smells strongly the way a home should, fire and the faint smell of vanilla. I don’t know how Baz possibly got the smell in here, but I like it a lot.

“Why are you interested in the job?” Baz continues, taking notes on a pad of paper as he asks the next question.

“Curiosity, mainly. The great Basilton Grimm-Pitch plotting something? Well, you know I had to get my fair share,” I joke lightheartedly. I almost get a smile.

“What are three words you’d use to describe yourself?”

“Three words? Um, alright. I’m resourceful, I think. I mean, I always have my sword accessible, so that counts, I think, even if I don't really use magick. But I’m good with my sword, you’ve seen me, I’m good with it. I’m hard working, you know. When I put my mind to something it gets done even if it takes hours. And I’d say I’m loyal.” I nod with each point, my head bobbing up and down.

Under his breath, I hear Baz mutter, “Yeah, to the Mage,” as he takes notes.

“I’m loyal to who I need to be,” I counter.

“And that just happens to be the Mage?” He inquires, his hand pausing and his eyes meeting mine. He holds my stare while he awaits an answer.

“It just so happens to be the Mage, for the moment,” I respond, firmly holding his gaze.

“For the moment,” Baz repeats. He doesn’t speak or ask another question for a while. He goes back to his notes and finishes writing down a few points. I can’t see the specifics of what he’s written, but it’s quite a bit. After dotting the Is and crossing the Ts, he places his pen down calmly next to the pad.

“That will be all, thank you,” he says, motioning to the door again

“That’s it? You asked me three questions,” I say, angry he obviously hadn’t taken the interview seriously.

“You want me to ask you more? Harder questions, maybe? Something to make you squirm? Okay, Snow, here's a harder question: do you trust the Mage?” Baz says, exasperated. He picks up his pen again, hand positioned and ready to take notes on my response.

I sit there staring at him, thinking. I sit there for at least a minute before answering. Baz waits patiently.

“No.”

“Thank you. Now you may leave.”

I get up to leave and I’m almost out the door when Baz calls after me.

“Snow? Come back tomorrow. Same time.”

I nod, and close the door behind me.


	3. Chapter 2 - Simon Waits a Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon returns to the palace for his follow up meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all... I’m so dumb I’m sorry!! I posted the fourth chapter before posting the third chapter lmaoooo my b my b

**Simon**

When I arrive back at the castle the next day, I had been expecting at least half of the men I had seen before to be back. Instead, there’s only one. He’s sitting on a bench next to the front desk, one I hadn’t noticed before. He’s dressed plainly, in the rugged brown clothes of a farmer. He’s largely built and his hands look rough. When I approach him, he sticks out his hand and introduces himself.

“Hiya, I’m Edmund. I assume yer here for the job as well?” Edmund says in a thick accent that I couldn't quite place.

I take his hand and nod my head saying, “Yeah. I expected more people to be here, to be honest.”

Edmund shrugs and moves down the bench to give me room to sit. I mumble a thanks in return. 

“Are ya’ nervous?” He asks, his futile attempt at small talk.

“I guess. Not so much nervous as excited? I don’t know. I’m just interested in what Baz-I mean the prince has in store for us,” I chuckle lightly.

“Probably something top secret. Or at least minimally shady if he’s hostin’ interviews the way he is. Possibly dang’rous…” Edmund trails off, staring intently at the wall across from us.

“Nothing too bad, I’m sure,” is all I said in my attempt to comfort him.

He stares at the wall for a bit more before abruptly turning to me. “Do you trust the prince?”

I’m taken aback by his sudden question but don’t refuse him an answer. I stare right back at him and reply, “With my life.”

We sit in an uncomfortable silence for a while, the only sound coming from the woman behind the desk who is writing furiously on a pad of paper. Every now and then she looks up, stares at the two of us for a bit, then goes back to her pad of paper. Finally, after scrutinizing us for so long, she calls my name.

“Simon Snow? The prince will see you now,” she nods toward the door.

I move to get up and Edmund claps me on the back.

“Good luck,” he says as earnestly as someone vying for the same job as you can.

“Thanks. You too,” I give him a weak smile and head toward the door. For a brief moment, I hold the gaze of the woman behind the desk and, although her mouth doesn’t show a smile, her eyes twinkle. 

I walk down the long hallway to Baz’s office. When I open the door, Baz is waiting for me, casually sifting through some documents on his desk. When he hears me come in, he places them all into a folder and hides them away in his desk.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come back,” he says, looking pointedly at the chair I sat in yesterday. I sit down in it without further prompting.

“Yeah, neither did I,” I say with a scoff.

“Yet here you are,” he points out.

“Yet here I am,” I agree.

“So, obviously, you’re here to talk to me about the job. It’s very important, and I mean crucial, that there is no chance of you backing out. I need full faith from you that what I’m about to entrust to you will stay within this room,” Baz’s eyes bore into mine.

“Sure, whatever you say. I’ll keep my lips sealed,” I say simply, drawing my fingers across my lips.

“No, Snow,” Baz looks deadly serious, “you need to  _ promise _ .”

“Ok, yes. I promise,” I tell him as sincerely as I could. 

“This job… is going to sound… a bit strange. Please, for my own sake, hold questions until the end,” he swallows and focuses on the marvel pattern of his desk. “As you know, my father, Malcolm died fairly recently, entrusting the kingdom to me. I was set to be officially coronated within the month. However, three days ago, I received a letter from someone who will remain anonymous until further notice, claiming they were eligible for the throne,” he takes a pregnant pause, “Unfortunately, the clause they were citing states that the heir requires a significant other as a plan B in case something were to happen to said heir. You are fully aware I do not possess such a person. The author of the letter seemed to know this as well,”

“But I have plans to change that, and you, Snow, are a crucial role. I need to know right now, if you are ready. This may seem silly, but this is important, Simon.” Baz’s eyebrows are furrowed and he looks concerned. For once, there’s not a sneer on his face nor malice in his voice. Plus he called me Simon.

“Yes. I swear, I won’t back out. No matter what you try to throw at me, I'll be here,” I affirm.

He nods his head slightly in acknowledgment before continuing with his monologue. “Okay. Okay. Yesterday was the… let's call them the auditions. I was auditioning people to—Merlin this is horribly embarrassing—to be my significant other-“

“Your boyfriend?”

“Yes. My… boyfriend. Believe it or not, you ended up being the best candidate. You already know mostly everything about me, including my family, my strengths and weaknesses, et cetera,-“

“Plus I’m hot,” I supply, interrupting him again.

He glares at me but doesn’t comment on my addition choosing rather to continue with his speech. “As I was saying, the author of the letter mentioned that I was in need of a significant other. Now I have one, technically. You will be posing as my partner until at least my coronation. You won’t have any obligations other than appearing with me in public and staying with me here, in the castle. Otherwise you are free to act as you like, within restraints, of course. You’re not allowed to act as though you aren’t already with me, so do try your best to avoid Wellbelove, Snow,” his sneer comes back with the last remark.

“We broke up, again, so no need to worry about that,” I feel my face redden and I cross my arms.

“All the better. Are there any questions regarding the situation?” He asks.

Before I could ask all the questions racing through my head, there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” Baz calls.

The woman from the front walks in holding a letter in her hand. 

“Sir, another letter came just now,” she says, extending her arm.

“Hm,” Baz hums, “thank you, Vera.” Baz took the letter from the woman, Vera, and begins to open it. As soon as he opens the envelope, a wave of smell hits my nose, burning my nostrils.

“You don’t mind if I read out loud, do you?” He says, addressing me.

I don’t open my mouth, but I shake my head, prompting him to read the letter. He hops on his desk, his foot hitting my knee in the process. He doesn’t move it.

“Basilton, I was not aware of your situation regarding a partner and I am very excited to meet them. Unfortunately, it may have escaped your notice that, because I am eligible for the crown, I still maintain the right to challenge you for the throne. Attached you’ll find the challenge that I, the challenger, have the right, and the choice, to challenge you to. I will be arriving in no more than four days commence with the celebrations. I look forward to seeing you so soon and wish you the best of luck with the reveal of your partner. Don’t bother writing back because by the time you’ve received this letter I will have already started for the castle,” Baz reads, growing quieter and angrier by the word. He throws the letter down on his desk and picks up the envelope again. He pulls out a sheet, which I assume to contain the challenge set by the author.

“The challenge I have chosen is one of love—what the bloody fuck—for us to compete in,” he reads aloud, more to himself than to the room.

“Baz,” I ask, “what does that mean?” My question is slowed and measured, for fear of provoking him further.

“It means,” he says as he places the second paper down slowly in his lap, “we have to jump through a bunch of stupid fucking hoops and prove our fucking love is better than this guy’s,” he rubs at the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“What-Baz, what-I don’t understand what that means. How are we supposed to prove we love each other more than this guy and his lover?” I rest my head on my hand.

“I don’t know. All I do know is that included are the basic instructions. Apparently this is public knowledge,” he scans the page.

“Then how come I've never heard of it? How come  _ you’ve  _ never heard of it?” I  accuse.

“I don’t know, Snow,” he says, unnervingly calm, while rubbing his temples. It’s calm because his words are, and it was unnerving because he isn’t. 

“God, now we have to actually pretend to be in love. This was supposed to be easy!” He says as his eyes flit over the letter again.

“Read the challenge aloud. I want to hear it,” I knock my knee into his foot gently, trying to get him to comply.

He sighs but pulls up the challenge again. “The rules are as follows: each team of partners must complete tasks set by a panel of randomly chosen judges. The challenges may be anything in the realm of relationships. If there is a disagreement on whether a challenge fits this criteria, it is up to the accuser to prove this beyond a doubt. If at any time a team decides to terminate their participation, the other team receives an automatic win as well as the option to exile the losing team and their families,” I hear him mutter a quiet “fuck”.

“Generally the competition lasts a total of seven days, with one challenge a night, but exceptions can be made causing the competition to last longer or shorter. The winner of the previous challenge is allowed to know to what the next challenge is, however the losing team must wait until it is announced publicly. According to custom, the defending team is allowed to know the first challenge and the accusing team is not,” he finishes the letter. Baz droops his shoulders and his eyes lose focus.

“Baz,” I place my hand gently on his knee, “it’s alright. We’ll jump through a bunch of ‘stupid fucking hoops’ and prove our fake love is better than that guy’s. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it. I told you: I’m loyal to who I have to be and, Baz, right now, that’s you.” Baz turns his head and looks gently down at me, but it isn’t gentle because it isn’t kind. It’s pitying. He shakes his head softly and he begins to chuckle. Before long he’s right out laughing.

“What the fuck, Baz?” I take my hand away from his knee and, when I do, he looks down at the spot where my hand once lay. He stops laughing and apologizes weakly.

“The author said he was going to arrive in four days time, and this letter is dated two days ago. He’ll be here in two days. Snow, I need you to move to the castle today. Can you do that?” Baz raises an eyebrow at me.

“I mean sure, it’s not like I have much to bring over. Just my clothes,” I tell him, shrugging my shoulders.

“That’s not happening,” he says waving me off, “you’ll be fitted with more… appealing clothes. More… royal.”

I scoff and roll my eyes, but my tiny smile betrays me. Baz smiles weakly in return.

“I have another question, though,” I say, standing up. I hop onto the desk and sit next to Baz, “Why is Edmund here if you're giving me the job?”

Upon hearing Edmund’s name, he instantly jumps up and his demeanor brightens, if only by just a tad.

“Edmund is here for the fake job. We’ll make it seem like you came to interrupt my busy say to speak with your, uh, boyfriend, and Edmund is the one who really got the job. I'll make something up for him to do and spread the word about what he’s doing the same way that I did for the job in the first place. It’ll be mostly rumors, but it’ll work just fine.”

“How are we meant to make it look like I came here to see you?” I ask, fearing the answer.

“I don’t know, untuck your shirt a bit, mess up your hair more than it already is? I’ll do the same, I suppose,” Baz suggests, already moving to deal with his hair.

“Oh, so you want to make it seem like we were having an intense make out. Sure, I can do that, why not?” I throw my hands in the air but do as I was told. “Baz, suck on your lips. Make them as puffy and red as possible.”

He looks at me weird but does it anyway. It’s one of the weirdest moments of my life. Baz and I, in a room by ourselves, making it appear like we were having the most intense make out session known to man. But I don’t question it. What does that say about me?

Finally satisfied with the extent of our disguise, Baz dismisses me, telling me not to actually leave the castle but to take the door to the left of the exit and wait for him there. 

 

* * *

 

I walk back through the long hall but stop momentarily at the door to mentally prepare myself to face Edmund, who’s oblivious to my current situation.

When I open the door, Edmund looks up from his lap. When he sees what I look like, his face blushes and he tries to avert his eyes. I guess our shoddy “disguises” work.

“Good job, mate. You got the job,” I congratulate him, pausing in front of him.

“Thanks. I, uh, s’ppose he’ll be wanting to see me now?” He forces an awkward smile.

“That’s right. You can go ahead now,” Vera pipes in from behind her desk.

“I'll be seeing ya ‘round, I‘m guessin’?” Edmund raises an eyebrow at me.

I rub the back of my neck and chuckle nervously, “Maybe. Well, uh, have fun with Baz.” 

After our awkward exchange I hurry to the room Baz had mentioned before, next to the exit. When she sees I’m at the door, Vera presses another button from behind her desk and lets me in. 

It’s a simple room, more of a waiting room than anything else. A couple of benches and end tables stocked with all the latest tabloids. There’s a bowl of hard candies as well as an unopened box of donuts. 

The only noise is coming from the ticking clock and the water cooler, which, every so often, released a stream of bubbles, then settled again, only to repeat the process a few seconds later. I grab a cup of water, a mint, and one of the magazines. 

All the magazines are filled with a load of crap, making stories out of mere speculation or, at best, minimum evidence. Fake reports swearing that the water, or was it the corn, is poisoned because one idiot claimed it is. Maybe it’s the wheat this time around. I don’t pay attention to the story too much, it’ll mottle your head with what’s real and what’s just for show, anyway. 

One article, and I struggle to call it that, catches my attention, however. It’s about Malcolm’s death. It must be a really new magazine. The article is, for once, mostly facts. It’s short, saying that King Malcolm was dead and his son is set to take the throne in three weeks. The first coronation in decades. I’m reading it when Baz comes in.


	4. Chapter 3 - Simon is this the first time you've ever had clothes that aren't your uniform fit you properly? Oh dear, that's sad, isn't it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon asks Baz a little bit about the job. Simon meets Emile. Simon discusses rules. It's all very exciting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This week has been... hectic to say the least. I planned on posting this sooner, but something came up and I needed to take some time for myself. Thank you for understanding :) 
> 
> Special thanks to my beta who I keep forgetting to mention!! Thanks, WO2Ash!!!
> 
> EDIT: IF YOU READ THIS CHAPTER AND WERE VERY CONFUSED, DON’T WORRY! That was my fault, I posted the wrong chapter first. Go back to chapter three to get caught up! Sorry for the inconvience!!!

**Baz**

I open the waiting room door to find Snow lounging on the bench, reading one of those bloody awful magazines Vera insists on buying every week. They don’t cost much, so I don’t really care, but god are they awful. Full of nothing but rumors, mostly about me or my family, or both.

I close the door behind me and lock it. Snow closes the magazine and sits up.

“You fancy blokes, then?” He asks before I can even walk into the room.

I blink at him for a moment before telling him, “Yes.”

“Okay.” Snow nods his head.

“Do you?” I ask, turning the question on him.

“We’ll see,” he says as if it’s not a big deal he basically just admitted he’s open to the option of guys. The option of _me_. I push away the thought as quickly as I can.

I walk over to him and sit in on one of the benches across from him. I search for a topic to change the conversation to, but Snow beats me to it.

“When am I getting fitted for clothes?” He asks impatiently. His knee is bouncing and I can tell he’s excited at the prospect.

“Is tonight too soon? I can have Vera get the tailor,” I offer.

“I mean, you said yourself you wanted me to move here as soon as possible, so yeah, tonight works,” he nods his head. His knee is still bouncing. I can feel the vibration through the floor.

“Great. Do you have any more questions?”

“Yeah, can I tell Penny about this?” His leg bounces.

“Bunce? No. You can’t tell anyone,” I lean back. My eyes fixate on his leg. Still bouncing.

“Baz, I need to tell someone. I’ll slip up and tell someone I shouldn’t and ruin this whole thing. Just let me tell Penny. You know her. You know she’s trustworthy,” Snow pleads as he bounces his fucking leg.

Does he not understand how important this is to me?

To the future of the kingdom?

He can't tell anyone. It could ruin everything.

Everything.

My arm shoots out from my body and I hold his leg still. “Fine!” I nearly yell, “Tell her! But if she says something, I’ll kill both of you,” I say, baring my teeth. Snow recoils at my sudden outburst of emotion but nods his head. I release his knee and it doesn’t bounce. I glance at Snow’s face and see it getting redder with anger. The last thing I need right now is for Snow to go off.

“Look, Snow,” I bury my head in my hands, “I’m sorry. This is just, it’s… my life—my future. I can't get exiled. I can’t get my family exiled. Ascending to the throne is more important to me than anything I’ve ever done, and I’m just really fucking mad it might be taken away because of a competition testing my love. What kind of sick fuck even decided to make that a rule?”

I hear Snow sigh and stand up off the bench. I wait to hear the sound of the door opening but instead I feel him sit down next to me. Snow places his hand on my shoulder. I nearly break down crying.

“I understand,” Snow whispers, his breath tickling my ear.

“No, you don’t,” I whisper.

“You’re right,” he whispers back, “but I’ll try.”

  


* * *

 

I give Snow a tour around the castle. It takes forever and I only showed him what he needed to know: the kitchen, the dining hall, the meeting room, my room, and his room. The whole time Snow’s eyes were glazed over and his arms were folded across his chest. The only sign that showed he was with me was the occasional nod or grunt.

I finish the tour with his room. “This is where you’ll be staying for the tonight,” I say, sweeping my arm through the air. His room, despite being a guest room, is huge. It’s furnished with a large canopy bed, wardrobes. There are even a couch and a fireplace. And this is modest. The walls are eggshell white and the bed covers are robin’s egg blue. The interior designers liked egg-themed colors. Gold accents can be found throughout, hidden on the feet of dresses or threaded in the throw pillows. It’s a room fit for a prince. For Simon Snow. It matches him.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. For a moment, a brief, glorious moment, I allow myself to imagine Simon sleeping in the bed, sitting on the couch, existing here in the castle. Unfortunately, my thoughts are interrupted by someone popping their head into the room.

“Baz, Vera told me to find you. Emile is here for your boyfriend,” Mordelia says from the doorway before turning on her heels and skipping away. I almost correct her, telling her Snow isn’t my boyfriend, but stop myself.

“Tell her to send him here,” I call after her. I turn to Snow to see his face is burning with embarrassment. He catches me looking at him and turns away, choosing to admire the room around him.

“Was that your sister?” He asks as he spins in circles in an attempt to absorb all he can. “She looks just like Daphne…”

“Her name’s Mordelia,” I tell him, stepping behind him. “She’s a little brat, but a good kid. She’s only nine. I don’t think she fully understands what it means for Father to be dead.”

Simon hums in response. He makes his way to bed and takes a seat on it. I follow him and stand in front of him with my hands shoved into my pockets.

“The tailor, Emile, will be here shortly. Any requests for clothes?” I ask him.

“No, I don’t know what looks good. Whatever’s cheapest. I don’t really care,” Simon says. I roll my eyes but don’t say more.

Emile arrives in within the next thirty seconds, thank god, complete with all his things. He’s an older man, I’ve known him my whole life and not once has he changed. His hair once might’ve been black but now it’s silver to match his handlebar mustache. He wears small round spectacles attached to a chain around his neck. His cheeks are rosy and his smile is ever-present.

“‘’Allo, I am ‘ere to fit your friend?” He says in his heavy French accent, lifting his arm and motioning to Snow. Snow hops off the bed and practically prances over to shake Emile’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Snow says politely.

“Likewise,” Emile responds. He turns to address me. “Now, let's get started, shall we? Quoi est-ce que vous pensez? Mm? Any ideas?”

“At least ten dress shirts, as well as seven pairs of trousers. Four suits minimum,” I list off. Emile takes notes of my every word.

“Do we ‘ave any of ze boy’s measurements ready to go?” Emile asks, hopeful though he knows he’ll have to measure Snow himself.

“Désolée, Emile, non,” I shake my head no.

“D’accord. Zat ees quite alright. Now, what did you say your name was?” Emile asks Snow.

“Simon Snow, sir.”

“Well, Simon, please, come with me.” Emile beckons Snow to follow him. He had set up near the fireplace with a short platform surrounded by mirrors. He instructs Snow to stand on the platform and he takes his measurements. Snow looks utterly uncomfortable the entire time Emile is measuring him it’s almost funny. When he’s finally done, he pulls out a suit jacket from behind one of the mirrors and instructs Snow to try it on. The whole thing is quite boring, frankly. It’s just a lot of Snow trying on clothes and looking uncomfortable and Emile nodded pensively and taking notes. All in all, it takes about an hour and a half. A modest amount of time, really.

When Emile decides he’s finished with Snow, he packs up his things, bids us farewell, and heads out.

“I will ‘ave a few shirts ready for tomorrow, d’accord? D’accord. Bonne nuit, monsieurs,” he waves and closes the door behind him.

With Emile gone, Snow relaxes a bit, sinking into the couch. I sit on the other side of the couch and cast a spell to light the fire. Snow doesn’t say anything and pulls his knees close to his chest. He looks, if I didn’t know better, scared. After the day we’ve had, I don’t say anything.

Not that I’d know what to say, anyway.

Instead, I walk out the door, pausing at the door to tell him there should be pajamas in his drawer, to have a good night, and that I'll find him tomorrow morning for breakfast. He mumbles a quiet goodnight and I leave him be.

  


* * *

 

The next morning I quickly get dressed. I knock on Snow’s bedroom door.

No response.

I knock again, more harshly.

A soft grumble comes from behind the door. I take it as “come in” and do.

When I walk into the room, Snow is nowhere to be found. I take a step into the room and allow the door to close behind me. I squint my eyes and realize that under the pile of blankets is Snow, still in bed.

Adjusting the cuffs of my shirt, I tell Snow, “Get up and get dressed. Shirts should be in the closet and pants in the drawers. You have ten minutes, then we’re going to breakfast. From today on we will be acting as a couple in front of my family, as well. Vera and Bunce are the only people outside of us who know, and it will stay that way.”

Snow sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes. His eyelids look heavy and his shoulders are slumped, “I haven’t told Penny yet. I was hoping you could help me call her using the mirror. I don’t know the spell, but you probably do.”

“I’ll help you with the spell after you get dressed and after breakfast,” I say. My hand connects with the doorknob, but before I can turn it Snow pipes up.

“And Baz? Cut the crap. If we’re going to act like we’re in love you need to stop being such a git all the time,” Snow speaks slowly but authoritatively.

“Fine,” I concede, “but I expect you to do the same. We can go over ground rules when I come to get you for breakfast. Now, _love_ ,” I say, drawing it out, “get dressed.”

I slip out of Snow’s room and wait in the hallway outside. In my head, I rehearse what I plan on saying to Daphne. She knows I’m gay, my whole family does, but she’s the only reaction I’m concerned about (plus, I don’t think the children even understands what that means). I know she won’t lash out or anything like that, but I need her to believe this. If she catches on to our ploy, so could the Mage.

I’m lost in thought when Snow pokes his head through the door.

“I’m dressed,” he says.

“I see that.”

“Come in here so we can discuss… rules…”

I follow Snow back inside and we sit on the couch. I can’t help but notice the way his pants fit or the way his red shirt ignites his hair.

It’s distracting.

“When you said rules, earlier, what’d you mean?” Snow asks, facing me. He’s folded himself so that his legs are crossed and he’s leaning against the armrest with his legs on the couch.

“PDA, pet names, et cetera,” I say. Just the thought makes my face want to burn but, unfortunately, we have to have this talk. God, I hate it.

“Oh,” Snow sighs, “I thought you meant about, like, eating etiquette or something stupid I’d have to learn, like which fork to eat with.”

“Oh, I will be teaching that to you,” I reassure him, “but that’s for a later date. Couples that display too much public affection make me sick, and I have a feeling most people feel this way as well. I say we limit it to the most basic forms, like hand-holding.” If I had drunk just a little more blood, my skin tone would make a tomato feel pale.

“Sure. I hold Penny’s hand all the time, and that’s platonic,” Snow shrugs.

“That’s a good idea. Use Bunce as an example. If you wouldn’t do it with her, don’t do it with me.”

“But Penny and I are just friends, we’re supposed to be madly in love,” Snow points out.

“Yes, but I don’t plan on outright snogging you at breakfast, do you?”

Snow blushes now, “Well no, but couples kiss, don’t they?”

I throw my hands up, “Fine if you wouldn't do it with Wellbelove, don’t do it with me!”

“Okay, I can work with that. What about that other thing you said, pet names?”

“What about them?”

“Do you plan on using them? Should I?”

“I’m still calling you Snow, if that’s what you’re asking,” I sneer but quickly dropped it when I remembered Snow’s earlier words about ‘cutting the crap’.

“No, you dunce, I mean like ‘love’ and ‘babe’.” Snow rolls his eyes.

“What did you call Wellbelove?”

“Agatha.”

“Hm.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know, Snow, use whatever feels right in the moment, I don’t care, just nothing stupid like ‘pooky’.”

Snow laughs. “You really think I’d call you ‘pooky’? Really?”

I roll my eyes, “No, but something just as bad. Maybe worse, just to get to me. You would.”

“I would,” he agreed, still laughing to himself. I get up to go to breakfast and beckon Snow to follow.


	5. Chapter 4 - Now the Story Gets Rolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon takes the next big step: meeting the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guyssss so like it’s been a while it’s been a while but I’m back! Now that summers here things’ll calm down and fingers crossed that means more updates for all y’all at home!!! As always pls leave any comments or criticisms you may have bc literally every comment makes me smile every interaction y’all have w this is so wacky bc like,,, a real person said this!! An actual person likes what I made!!! It’s the best motivation to write I can think of so thanks to every one who leaves comments and stuff!!

**Simon**

Of course I had seen the royal family on TV. Everyone has, at least. I even briefly met Malcolm once when he came to pick up Baz from Watford for holiday. 

And when I say ‘met’ I mean he and I made eye contact from a distance, me shocked at the gates, and him glaring from the back of his carriage. 

I didn’t like it.

My brief interaction with Malcolm is painting a very certain picture of Daphne in my head. And it’s not very flattering.

When we get to the dining room, Daphne and all the children are already seated at the table. The seat at the head of the table is empty, but Daphne stills sits to the right of it. For a moment I’m unsure whether Baz would dare sit there, but he doesn’t. 

For now. In three weeks, if all goes well, he will. 

But for now he sits to the left and I stand next to his chair, waiting for the okay from Daphne to sit. Technically Baz is the one to allow me to sit, but I still look to her for approval first. 

She glances at me, then turns her head back to look at me again. Realization of whom I am, of what I am, of what I represent, must dawn on her suddenly because I see, behind her mask, her eyebrows raise slightly and her insincere smile turned real, if only by a little bit.

“Please,” she says, her voice smooth and warm, like melted butter, “take a seat.” She waves at the chair I was standing behind and I do as I’m told.

Once I’m seated, I look down at my plate in anticipation but find it empty. I look around the table and see that everyone’s plates are empty. Baz must see me staring dismally and pokes me gently in the ribs.

“Daphne,” Baz says, addressing his step-mother, “I’d like you to meet Simon.”

“Nice to meet you, Simon,” she smiles sweetly at me, and, like Vera, her smile is sweet but I know it could turn sour on the nick of a dime.

“And you, your majesty,” I say, bowing my head in respect.

Daphne laughs politely, clutching her pearls ever so slightly. “Oh dear, there’s no need to address me that way, maybe if I was the queen!” She laughs again and it’s not malicious. It’s pure and real and not what I expected at all. “Please, Simon, please, call me Daphne. I insist!” Daphne laughs again as if she’s made a hilarious joke. I laugh weakly along with her.

“Well, I think it’s right time for breakfast, what do you say darling?” Daphne asks the small child next to her, ruffling their hair.

The servants must be constantly listening because at the mere utterance of those words, maids and butlers begin rushing in with food to feed a military.

The table becomes covered in pastries and jams, ham and bacon, every style of egg there is in existence. It takes all I have in me not to snatch the scones from off their plate. Again, I wait for Daphne’s cue to begin. Once she gives it, I instantly grab a scone and butter from the middle. I pile my plate high with food and all sorts of carbs. My fork is inches away from taking a piece of pancake when I hear a snort, then a chuckle coming from my left.

I put my fork down and look at Baz. “Is there something I can help you with?” I ask.

“No, it’s just,” he snickers, “you’re acting like one of the children. It’s funny.”

I glance at the other children’s plates and see they look just like mine. The redness in my face deepens.

“It’s not funny,” I protest.

“It’s endearing,” Baz says. 

“At least I’m eating something” I tease, motioning with my eyes at his empty plate and untouched silverware.

His mouth opens to say something before closing it and forcing a small laugh. Out of the corner of my eye I see Daphne puts her food to her lips but doesn’t eat it. Instead she sits there watching this unfold. It’s hard not to stare at her, staring at us. 

I study Baz’s face for what he may be thinking but I’m lost. Until I notice that, on the side of his face not towards the table (not towards Daphne) he’s poking his tongue out of his cheek in a way that kind of makes it looks like a… like a fang. Duh. I’m so fucking stupid. That’s why Daphne stopped eating. Because she knows. 

Does she know I know?

Did that just blow our cover?

Fuck.

I dramatically widen my eyes and put on a face. “Oh, Baz,” I start, sounding as apologetic as I can. I lift my hand in the air in between us. “I didn’t mean it like that. I—”

Baz cuts me off. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t,” he says and pushes my hand down into my lap. Out of the corner of my eye I see Daphne eat the piece of food she’d been holding onto to. She’s satisfied with my performance. Once Baz see her eat too, he quickly removes his hand from atop mine and goes back to sitting there. He starts talking to Daphne about something, but I tune out.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

 

* * *

 

After breakfast Baz pulls me aside, tugging me into an empty room by my arm. “Simon, what the fuck was that? You almost completely blew our cover!”

“Well how was I supposed to know you don’t eat normal food!” I twist my arm from his grip.

“I still eat normal food you dolt,” he exclaims, “but not in front of people because my fangs pop! It’s embarrassing!”

“Okay, well, how was I supposed to know that if you hadn’t told me? And why can’t we just tell Daphne? What’s wrong with her being in on it?” I ask.

“Because,” Baz sighs, “if Daphne, the most intuitive and deductive person I’ve ever met, can’t figure it out, neither will anyone else. Also, Daphne’s a terrible actor.”   
Baz drags a hand across his face. He looks exhausted. I suddenly feel bad that I almost blew it but then I remember it wasn’t really my fault.    
I still feel bad though.    
“The anonymous author of the letter is arriving later today,” Baz tells me, changing the subject.    
“Oh, so soon? That doesn’t give us a lot of practice time,” I say, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to meet this surprise challenger.    
“No, no it doesn’t. But we’ll make do. The point I was getting to was that now might be a good time to contact Bunce,” he says.    
I had completely forgotten about that because of the mild hitch in breakfast. My eyes light up and my heart swells.    
“Yes, okay, let’s go. Right now. Where are we doing this?” I bounce up and down like an excited kid.    
Baz blows air out is his nose in a mock laugh. “Bathroom. Come,” he says. He leads me back to his bedroom.    


* * *

 

I always knew Baz was at least a little goth or at least emo, I think it comes with being a vampire, but his room is something else. A complete contrast to the one I had stayed in only last night. Everything is crimson and black. There are actual gargoyles on his bed. 

_ Gargoyles _ . 

And it’s huge. 

If I thought my room was large, I was terribly mistaken. Baz practically has a living room attached to his bedroom. While my room only had one couch, Baz had an entire livinig room set.    
I stand stunned in the doorway taking it all in. Baz grabs me by the arm and leads to his bathroom. There’s a mirror above the sink and Baz stops in front of it.    
“ **Mirror mirror on the wall, show me Penelope Bunce** ,” he casts. I always hated that spell because it almost never rhymes.    
The glass ripples like a stone were cast into it and Penny comes into focus. It’s a weird angle and it keeps switching. I realize that Penny’s walking down the street and every time the angle switches, it’s just us switching reflections. 

Neat.    
“Bunce!” Baz calls to her. She whips her head around to look for the source. “Bunce!” He calls again. This time Penny notices us.    
She walks closer to us and asks, “Basilton, why are you in the water trough?” She doesn’t seem to notice me yet.    
“We are? Huh, normally this spell uses actual glass. Strange. Anyway, Snow wanted to talk to you,” he motions to me. When he does her eyes go wide and she nearly squeals.    
“Simon! Oh, how are you?” Her smile is wide and infectious. Before I know it I’m smiling with her.    
“I’m good. I gotta tell you about this job,” I turn to ask Baz if I can but he’s left the bathroom. I’m grateful for the privacy.    
“I’m Baz’s boyfriend,” I tell her.    
“Simon, what? What does  _ that _ mean? You’re not  _ actually _ dating Basil are you?” She raises her eyebrow at me.    
“Oh, not really,” I clarify, “just for the job. For appearances. You’ll see why soon. It’ll make more sense then. It’s hard to explain so I’m going to let Baz do it during his address to the people.”    
“Okay, Si. Well I’m glad you’re okay. You had me worried,” she laughs.    
I catch her up on all that’s happened from when I arrived yesterday to this moment. She stays mostly silent throughout only nodding her head or humming in agreement. At the end of my spiel she stares at me fondly.    
“Si,” she says warmly, “make sure to call me. I’ll keep a mirror on me just in case. But stay in touch. Not telling anyone about this might take its toll so just know I’m here for you.”   
“I will,” I assure her. 

Baz knocks on the door and I let him know it’s okay to enter. He does and gives Penny a brief goodbye before terminating the spell. Right after he does, he turns to me and holds out a small silver mirror. It’s a makeup mirror, the kind that opens and closes like a clam shell.    
“This is in case you ever want to talk to her. Just find me and I’ll cast the spell for you,” he says, holding out to mirror for me to take.    
I pluck it from his palm and examine it closer. There’s intricate detail on the top and a smooth finish on the bottom. The mirror itself is polished so well I can see my reflection five feet behind me. I wonder for a moment whether it’s magickal.    
“Thanks,” I said, slipping the mirror into my pocket. I’ll definitely be taking advantage of that.    
“Snow,” he says and turns to me, “we need to talk.”


	6. Chapter 5 - A Challenger Approaches!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Snowbaz’s opposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the next update :)  
> As always lmk what u think and maybe ill post more regularly lol but whos to say
> 
> Ps idk why the formatting is all goofed up, I tried fixing it and messing around with it but nothing worked ://

**SIMON**

Baz leads me back into his room and sits me down on the couch. The high from talking to Penny is wearing off and I can tell he’s nervous.  
    “The, uh, challenger arrived while you were talking with Bunce. We’ll be meeting with them for lunch to go over rules and such,” he says. His eyes are stern and his fists are clenching and unclenching in his lap.  
    “Okay. Is that all you wanted to say?” I ask, prompting him to share more.  
    “No, there’s more,” he takes a deep breath, “Simon, I need you to promise me you’ll remain calm. You might not like who you see but promise me. Promise me you won’t run or do anything rash. Conceal your emotions.”  
    “Baz, I’m not a child. I won’t do anything rash. I know how important this is to you,” I assure him, rolling my eyes. Honestly, how stupid does he think I am?

“All I’m saying is…” he pauses as he searches for the right words. “Just… stay calm.”

“Alright, alright. I won’t go off, I guess. I promise.”

“Alright, then,” he nods.

Baz stands up and I follow.

“Let’s go, then.”

 

*    *    *

 

Baz stops me again in front of the door to the parlor room, but before he can say anything I do. “

“I won’t lose my temper,” I say, staring directly into his eyes. He holds my gaze for a moment but drops it and nods. His hands wraps around the doorknob and times slows. I watch as he opens the door.

I hear him before I see him.

It’s the Mage.

Why is the Mage here? He’s not. He can’t be. Oh, Merlin, he is. The Mage is the fucking competitor.

That’s why Baz wanted to know where my loyalties lie. Because the Mage is the one we’re competing against.

Fuck.

Baz notices my expression and nudges me inside. It’s a nice room, it matches the one I slept in last night. There are a few chair and table setups around the room, but at the biggest table sits three people, two I don’t recognize.

There is, of course, the Mage. Sitting to the left of him is an older elf with white robes and gold accents (he quite resembles the priest from the Princess Bride).

On the right of the Mage is a woman.

The woman is hard to describe. Her face looks young, but she looks old, weathered. And she doesn’t look all there.

Her skin! Oh, her skin is so pale, paler than even the marble table, it reflects the light.

And her hair is so light that it looks as though it’s threaded with silver strands.

Her eyes, _her eyes_ , they are what unnerve me. They look like they once might have been vibrant, a lovely , but now they’re dull as if the color had been drained from them. They scan me, searching for answers to questions hidden from even her.

Her hands are folded neatly in her lap and she smiles politely at me. It unsettles me.

“Simon!” the Mage stands as soon as he sees me. He turns to face Baz and his mouth moves to say something but the elf doesn’t let him.

“Please, your majesty, join us,” he says and pulls out a chair for Baz. I sit down next to him and face the ghostly woman. She smiles vacantly at me and I smile politely back.

“I’m sure we’re all aware of what we’re here for,” the elf says and looks at us to confirm. I nod my head.

“Splendid,” he says. He pulls out a large tome from somewhere behind him and opens it on the table. A large plume of dust billows up and makes everyone cough.

Expect for that woman.

The elf places a finger on the page and begins to read. He just repeats what the Mage had sent in his letter to Baz detailing the challenge and I struggle to not zone out.

“Now, of course, we had to update the challenge slightly in order to make it more accurate. We’ll be monitoring your actions all day for a week using the cameras already in place around the castle. There are no cameras in the bathroom, so no need to worry about that” the elf tells us with a slight laugh.

“Your Majesty, I had a servant leave a scroll for you including the information regarding the first challenge in your bedroom. It should be there upon your return,”

Baz nods, “Okay.”

“Are there any questions surrounding the challenge?” No one responds.

“Wonderful. I think that’s all I’m needed for right now. I expect you’ll be making the announcement, your Majesty?” he says, turning to address Baz.

“Yes, Pa’ama. Thank you,” Baz dismisses him.

Pa’ama nods and heads out, taking the heavy book with him.

“Basilton, is this why you kept your relationship secret?” the Mage asks, and motions to me with his hand. I’m sucking viciously on my bottom lip and tying my hands into knots.

“Yes, this is why,” I say, transfixed on my lap.

“I see,” the Mage maintains a calm mask but it’s obvious, behind his eyes, that his blood is boiling. The woman next to him just sits there, unaware of any animosity around her.

“Lucy,” the Mage asks the woman, “are you ready to go back to our room?”

The woman looks at up at him for a moment and processes the question. When she responds her voice is quiet and light. “Oh, yes.” She stands with him and takes his hand.

“Until tonight, then,” the Mage says.

“Until tonight,” Baz agrees.

  


**BAZ**

Simon is nearly catatonic. He walks with me, sure, but his movements are forced and his eyes aren’t focusing. He keeps picking at the sleeve of his sweater and it’s threatening to unravel at this point.

“I warned you,” I say.

“Yeah.”

 

                *    *    *

 

We get to my, our, room.

“I’ll… let you be. For some time. Allow you to gather your thoughts. I’ll come back an hour before the party so we can go over some simple plans,” I say so nicely it sounds like a question.

“Party?”

“More like a big dinner. Just for the upper class and important people. They’ll be the first to know about our… predicament.”

“What about the public?”

“Public address. Tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. I’m leaving now. I’ll be back.”

“Okay.”

  
  


**SIMON**

After Baz leaves, I take a nap on his bed.

It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt. Even softer than the one I slept on last night.

And it smells like him. Oranges and the forest. Baz may be an absolute git, but I’ll be damned before I say he smells bad.

I wake up to a knock on the door and, for a moment, I wonder if I had really slept for so long. I open the door, however, to reveal, not Baz, but Daphne.

Instantly my blood runs cold.

Not because she’s particularly intimidating, but because of what Baz said about her earlier. How she’s the most deductive person he’s ever met.

I swallow, quickly remember my manners, and bow.

She laughs and tells me, “Now, dear, there’s no need for that.”

“Please, come in,” I open the door more for her and move aside.

She walks, no _floats_ , inside and settles on the couch. I sit next to her.

“Simon, there’s something I must confess. Regarding your relationship with Basilton,” she says. Her hands are folded in her lap and her ankles are crossed.

“Yes?” I prompt. I can't breathe.

“Well, to be completely honest with you, this is the happiest I’ve seen Basilton in a long time. I don’t know if you realize how much better you’re making his life. It’s been… difficult without Malcolm. Basilton has had to take on a lot of responsibility and it’s been taxing,” she says.

“Ah, well, thank you, ma’am. Daphne,” I smile, but it doesn’t feel appropriate so I drop it quickly.

“Really, Simon,” she says and places a hand on my knee. “The way he looks at you. He loves you,” she squeezes my knee.

“Oh, I don’t know-“ I start but Daphne cuts me off with another squeeze.

“Simon, don’t be silly. The way he looks at you is the same way Malcolm used to look at the portraits of Natasha that hung in the library. I know it must feel weird for me to mention that, but she was always his first love. Not to say he didn’t love me, of course. He did. But Natasha captured his heart. And it seems you’ve captured Basilton’s,” she smiles earnestly.

“Thank you,” I say again because I don’t quite know what else I _can_ say. My heart is pounding and my throat feels tight.

“Well, I’ll leave you. I’ll see you tonight?” she asks. I nod.

Once Daphne leaves I find myself alone again. Try as I might, I can’t force myself back to sleep. Instead, I lie on the couch and think about tonight.

There’ll probably be a lot of rules.

And political discussions.

And the Mage.

God. The Mage. _He’s_ the challenger. He knew Baz was single and found a stupid way to take the throne. What a shitty move. The arsehole.

 

            *    *    *

 

Baz comes to pick me up for dinner not long after Daphne’s visit.

“You’ll need to change into something nicer than that,” he says before I can even acknowledge his sudden presence.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now? It’s just dinner. I wore this to breakfast,” I protest.

“This is a _banquet_ , Simon,” Baz says. “Think… leaver’s ball times ten.”

“Oh,” I say, “Well, has Emile finished my suits?” It makes me feel kinda weird, a little snobbish, to ask that.

“I made sure you had at least one finished for today. It should be in my closet,” Baz tells me. He walks over to his closet and opens the double doors.

“Come,” he beckons.

I follow him in. The walls are lined floor to ceiling with various articles of clothing. From suits to jeans, there’s not an inch left uncovered. Baz walks to back to a section cleared away and separate from the rest.

“This is where you’ll be able to find your clothes,” he says. I nod and move forward to inspect what's there already. All Emile has done so far, not to say I’m ungrateful, of course, are a few shirts, and a suit set.

And wow. That suit is beautiful.

It’s dark navy with black lapels and a gorgeous velvet pattern of roses on it. The roses are the same color as the fabric so you can only tell what it is when it hits the light.

The pants are a matching navy, sans the velvet.

Baz points out a shelf where the ties and accessories are to be found. He plucks a black handkerchief and a dark  tie for me to wear. I’m honestly ready to cry at how good all of these things look.

“I’ll leave you to change into your clothes,” Baz says and leaves, but not before taking some clothes for himself.

I take my time changing, savoring the fabric and the design of the suit. Emile did an amazing job.

I find myself staring in the full-length mirror in the closet, unable to tear my eyes away from the person I see staring back at me.

Baz knocks on the closet door and I yell for him to come in. I turn to tell him what a good job Emile did but I find myself unable to speak.

Baz’s suit is a deep pine green made of a fabric resembling satin. His suit is unbuttoned to reveal a matching waistcoat. A burgundy tie is tucked behind the vest and Baz looks… he looks stunning.

There’s not a better word for it.

I want to cry again.

He stands next to me in the mirror and the combined power of our suits and how good we look is literally going to kill me. I’ve never been one for fashion and I generally couldn’t care less about what others wore, but damn. Now I get why Baz was so fancy all the time. If he feels half as good as I do right now when wearing a suit there’s no wonder he chooses to all the time. I just might follow him in suit (ha).

“You look…” I start to say, but I’m honestly unable to find the words.

“You too,” he says.

Baz leans forward in the mirror and inspects his face.

“Stop, your face is fine,” I tell him and pull him back.

We stand in the mirror admiring ourselves and each other for a few more seconds before Baz reminds me why I’m wearing this suit in the first place.

“Shall we read what the first challenge is?” he asks.

“Probably, yeah,” I answer.

We come out of the closet together (and we’ll do it again in under an hour) and find the scroll of paper wrapped neatly on Baz’s desk.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Baz asks and hands me the paper.

“More than anything,” I say and take the scroll from him. I quickly pull off the red ribbon tied around and open it. I clear my throat, and begin.

“Challenge one. First Night—night is capitalized here for some reason,” I add, “spooning.”

“That’s it? That’s all the paper says?” Baz asks and takes it from me. He examines it with great scrutiny but it’s true, that’s all the paper says.

“Not complicated, that’s good,” I say.

“Yeah…” Baz agrees, “but don’t you feel like there should be more?”

“Not really.”

“Alright, then. Shall we go to dinner?” he asks and offers me his arm.

I take it. “We shall.”


	7. Chapter 6 - Dinners, Dinners Are No Fun Unless You Share With Everyone That You're Gay and Dating Your Supposed Archenemy/Ex-Roommate-Turned-Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and Simon go to dinner. A fancy dinner, nonetheless! Baz has a little bit of a sad boi hour and Simon gets a lil tipsy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall,, id like to Formally Apologize that the update has taken this long lmao... things have FINALLY kicked up at work and ive been busy taking care of all that good stuff... anyway this time i know better than to get ur hopes up about regular updates but ill try to post every month or so at the very least
> 
> thanks for all ur nice comments!! i hope u like the chapter and as always lmk what yall think

**SIMON**

We walk into the hall together. There’s a servant waiting for us to open the door. As soon as he does, a man in a nicely tailored coat announces our presence.

“His Majesty Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch and Sir Simon Snow.”

Everyone’s heads swivel to look at us and I can feel my face turn bright red. I want to bury my face in Baz’s arm but I resist the urge. Instead, I grip his arm tighter and force myself forward.

Baz leads us to a table at the front of the room where the rest of his family are already seated. Once we’re seated, I realize that only the royal family is seated at this long table while the rest of the guests, including the Mage, to my delight, are seated at a series of round tables. Not only is our table exclusive, but it is also raised on a platform one or two feet above the rest of the room. I feel embarrassed to be seated here, literally above everyone else. Baz seems unperturbed. He’s probably used to it, the git.

Baz sits in the chair to the right of the largest one, the King’s chair. To the left of that chair are Daphne and the littlest of the children. I sit next to Baz in the chair left for me and next to me sits Mordelia. She smiles devilishly at me and she reminds me so much of Baz at that age. She looks as though she has the will, and inhibitions, to do all that Baz wished he could’ve done. I bet she’s left more than one frog in an au pair’s tea or a mouse on the chair of a tutor.

I scan the crowd for familiar faces but can only find the Wellbeloves and the Bunces. 

It’s no surprise that Penny is here, she is a part of the Old Families, but I can only guess Agatha’s here because of her family’s money. I, of course, recognize a few of the other guests, but no one I can name. 

I see that Daphne has some bread on her plate and I immediately grab a roll from a bowl on the table and begin to eat it.

Soon after Baz and I sit down, he stands once more. He clinks his fork against his glass to get everybody’s attention (as if he didn’t already have it). 

“Hello. Welcome, and thank you for attending. Tonight’s celebration is a special one for… more than one reason,” Baz begins. He looks down at me and I give the back of his knee a gentle squeeze.

“First and foremost, I would like to formally introduce my significant other,” I can feel Baz cringe at the use of those words, “Simon. Simon, will you please stand.”

I follow orders and brush a few crumbs off my lap. This gets a few laughs from the crowd, drowning out the sound of murmurs that can be heard from a few tables.

(“The prince is gay?”

“The Mage’s Heir, nonetheless!”

“What would Natasha think?”

“How sad for Malcolm, the lineage ends with Basilton!”

I pray Baz doesn’t hear the comments, and although he doesn’t react visibly to them, I can't be sure he doesn’t.)

I wave curtly and flash an awkward smile before Baz thanks me and tells me I can sit down now.

“For obvious reasons, we have been keeping this information private, but a situation has come up in which we are required to reveal the true nature of our relationship. Due to the recent passing of my father, Malcolm, I was scheduled to take the throne. Unfortunately, however, a complication has arisen. Not too long ago, I received word that I was being challenged for the throne on a technicality of seniority by a distant relative,” Baz says, but his face betrays how little he believes there’s any relation to the Mage at all.

“I was surprised to find that challenger to be none other than the Mage himself,” Baz says with a dismissive motion in his general direction. The Mage makes a move to stand up, but Baz stops him.

“Oh, no need to stand up, Davy,” he says waving him off. This gets a few more laughs from the crowd as well as a suppressed laugh from Daphne (who expertly disguises it as a cough). I guess now that we’re out of school and the Mage has no real power over Baz, he’s allowed to have a field day embarrassing him.

“The competition commences tonight and live footage can be found on channel nine on your television if you so wish to watch. Further details will be addressed to the public tomorrow, but if you have any specific questions, feel free to approach me or Pa’ama, the man,” Baz points to the elderly elf in the back of the room, “the man, right over there. Pa’ama, go ahead, stand so people can see you.” Baz is really rubbing this in, isn’t he? Well, I, personally, am loving it.

Pa’ama stands for a moment but quickly sits back down again.

“That’s all for announcements. Once again, thank you for joining us tonight in celebration and let the feasting commence!” 

Instantly food appears in front of each person. Different meals ranging from steaming borscht to piles of turkey legs. Each guest seems to have a meal catered specifically to them. In front of me, I find none other than Cook Prichard’s brisket accompanied by her scones.

I glance at Baz’s plate to see he’s got a steak so rare it looks like it could jump off the plate and run away. I nudge his side under the table to discreetly get his attention.

“Baz,” I say, “do you need to… you know… hunt? That steak is practically bleeding.”

“Yeah,” he flicks his tongue over his mouth and sucks on his bottom lip, “yeah I do. I need to stay here until dinner is formally over, but as soon as it is I need to hunt. You’re welcome to stay here for the, and I hesitate to call it this, after the party, but I need to leave as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” I respond and go back to my food. We maintain a light banter and I get the chance to talk more with Mordelia. 

“So you’re Baz’s boyfriend?” She asks between mouthfuls.

“Yep,” I tell her, “that’s me.” 

“Since when?” Her eyes bore into my head. I can feel her stare.

“Um, I don’t… I don’t quite remember…” I don’t know how to respond to that. We never talked about a backstory. Damn, maybe we should’ve.

“Baz,” I ask, “remind me, and Mordelia, when we first, uh, made it official, with each other. I can seem to place a date on it.”

Baz’s face pales (I didn’t think it possible) a tad but he quickly pulls himself together. “Beginning of this year’s semester.” He responds coolly.

“Thanks, love,” I say and turn back to Mordelia. “This year.”

“You couldn't remember that?” She raises an eyebrow at me.

“Bad memory on this one,” Baz cuts in and taps me on the head.

Mordelia must buy it, at least to an extent because she doesn't question us further. Instead, we talk more about school, magick, books, any topic Mordelia can come up with, I match her in vigor. It’s the most fun I've had talking to someone in a long time. Other people don’t ask me what my favorite breed of dog is or where I stash my sweets when I don’t want anyone else to find them. Mordelia and I will get on swimmingly, I think. Just thinking about all the stress our powers combined will cause Baz is enough to make a grown man faint, or a more mischievous person downright giddy.

Finally dessert appears in front of everyone, again catered to each individual, and I can tell Baz is getting anxious to leave. His eyes keep darting to the exits and he becomes more distracted. I don't mention when I notice that his dessert is a type of blood pudding (which he later informs me is actually an Italian dessert called sanguinaccio).

As soon as the majority of the room has finished with their desserts, Baz stands to make a farewell toast.

“One more time, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for partaking in our celebration tonight. I, unfortunately, must leave you, but feel free to stay and indulge in some wine and more light desserts if you wish. Goodnight,” he bids to the room. Privately he wishes the members at the front table goodnight and kisses Daphne’s cheek lightly (I don’t think he would’ve have done that if not for the audience) before placing a matching one on mine. He ruffles Mordelia’s hair and hastily heads towards a side exit near the table. 

Nobody watches him leave because they are too busy getting out of the way of the moving tables and chairs. The seating arrangements transform themselves to form smaller, taller, tables with a couple of high chairs at each as if it were a bar.

Daphne calls over a few servants (nannies? Au pairs?) from the wall where they’re standing to take the children to bed and kisses each one goodnight. She then stands to join the remaining guests in the common area. I follow her lead.

I waste no time finding Penny and Agatha talking together, each holding a glass of dark red wine. I notice Penny’s holding two, and I assume it’s for me.

Penny nearly spills wine everywhere when she sees me. She hands me a glass before throwing her arms around me. 

“Oh! Simon Snow! How have you been?” She asks as if we didn’t talk merely hours before.

“I’m well, and you? How about you Agatha? We haven't talked in forever!” I turn my attention to her. She looks nice, wearing a flowy pale gown with her hair in intricate braids.

“I’m… well, Simon. Thank you for asking. So, you and Baz? That’s a thing now?” She asks incredulously.

“Yep.” I don’t want to say too much because I know I’ll say too much or the wrong thing or both.

“Honestly, I wasn’t expecting it, but it all makes sense now I know you fancied Baz!” Agatha laughs lightly.

“What do you mean?” 

“The obsession, the staring, the general lack of interest in me as a girlfriend, everything!”

“Oh.”

“Don’t look so put out, Si,” Penny juts in. “It’s not your fault you’re terrible at hiding your feelings.” She places her hand on my shoulder jokingly.

“Wow, thanks, Pen,” I tell her, laughing. 

I take a sip of the wine and it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever had, really. It rivals dinner and dessert combined. I’ve never tasted ambrosia before but I’m sure this is what it would taste like. 

I quickly lose track of the number of glasses I’ve drunk. Before the night is over my chest feels like a furnace and my lips are stained dark. Most of the guests are gone at this point, but Penny and Agatha have stayed with me. Together the three of us sit at one of the tables, all of us in varying states of drunkenness. Agatha’s the most reserved, having only had one or two glasses and Penny follows. She’s rambling about politics and human rights and Agatha’s nodding her head as if Penny’s spouting nothing less than words from God himself. I sit on, amused, but not contributing. I know better than to interfere with Penny when she’s on a roll. 

Suddenly a loud noise startles me, as well as the rest of the party-goers. A bell tower outside the castle chimes twelve times to signal everyone that it's midnight, and perhaps time to go. 

Penny chugs what’s left in her wine glass and we say goodbye. Agatha and I say our own awkward goodbyes and she escorts Penny out the door. I finish the last drop of wine in my cup, using my tongue to get the most out of it and decide it time to head back to our room. There is a challenge to complete, after all.

 

**BAZ**

As soon as I dismiss myself from the party I practically sprint to the catacombs. We made sure long ago there were no cameras there, making it the one place I can really relax. 

I drain the first rat I see, unconcerned with whether it was a female or not. I’m just so hungry. I almost lose myself, draining rat after rat until my stomach can’t hold any more (I’m not even sure the blood actually goes to my stomach. I’m not sure _where_ it goes. Wherever it goes, that organ has decided it’s full). 

When I stand up I can feel the blood slosh around inside me and I feel like throwing up. It’s such a discomforting feeling, physically, and mentally. To know, to _feel_ , you’ve got another beings life force inside of you. To know you’ve stolen it for your own. I try my best to ignore it. Tonight my best isn’t enough.

I exhale heavily and slide down against the wall of the catacomb. I can’t go back to the party, I’ve already announced my exit and to return would be against customs. I’d also have to interact with all those horrible and pretentious people. I’d have to deal with their awkward sympathy towards my stepmother, because, oh how sad, there will be no biological heir! The Pitch line dies with poor Basilton! Newsflash, the Pitch line died years ago in a nursery, surrounded by flames. 

I don’t want to stay down here in the catacombs any longer than I must, either. True as it may be that I can see in the dark, it’s not a particularly comforting environment. The stone walls provide little insolation or warmth and the torches lining the walls are few and far between. 

A random gust of wind, one that creates a near howl, sends shivers down my spine. I wrap my arms tight around my body.

The silence is an eerie one. A silence that would normally offer solace provides nothing more than a feeling of constant dread. 

A feeling of being alone. 

So very alone. 

Honestly, I’m so tired I nearly fall asleep right where I lay, with my back against the cold stone wall, despite the dead rats and moaning wind. 

Standing up from my spot on the floor, I at least have the good sense to transport the rats into the moat where the merwolves will deal with them. 

I make a quick exit.


	8. Chapter 7 - Baz and Simon Have A Nice Night In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *tugs at shirt collar* Hoo boy is it getting hot in here or is it just me? sorry ill never do that again
> 
> anyway.
> 
> Baz and Simon complete the first challenge. ;) wink wonk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well im back ish
> 
> sorry about the wait, but school just started so thats been nice and HectiqueTM but here's the next chapter! I really like this one so i hope yall do too and honestly nothing keeps me going quite like all the comments yall write 
> 
> also for this au, tech wise or whatever, im picturing kind of a Hunger Games level? like tvs and stuff exist but no one really has phones or tablets etc

**Baz**

The walk back to my room is long and lonely. And late. 

Long, lonely, late. 

The saddest alliteration known to man. 

I’m sure Snow is still up partying away and getting absolutely shitfaced. That will make for an interesting night, won’t it? 

God, I just hope he doesn’t say something to blow our cover due to his lack of inhibitions.  _ Or even worse, go after Wellbelove. I know I saw her in the crowd somewhere. _

The sound my door makes when I open it is loud and it hurts my ears, everything is too much right now. I don’t turn on the lights. 

I settle at my desk and flip on the lamp. I fiddle with my pen, twirling it in my hand. Every now and then I work a tad on my speech, but don’t find myself getting anywhere with it.

Time passes just like that, with me in my chair, fiddling with my pen, getting lost in my thoughts, before Snow finally comes in. His shirt is loosened, as is his tie, and his coat is draped across his arm. His cheeks are flushed pink and a languid smile dances on his wine stained lips.

“Hullo, Bazzy,” he gives a curt wave, “and how might you be on this fine evening?”

“Splendid, and yourself?” I humor.

“Simply delightful. That wine! Like melted warmth, I tell you,” he chuckles and pinches his fingers together, shaking his hand at me. 

“Is that so? I didn’t partake in any drinking tonight,” I respond.

Snow shuffles closer and points a finger in my face and wags it, “But that’s not quite true, is it?” he whispers.

I glare at him and end the conversation. Snow, however, has different plans. He takes my arm and drags me into the bathroom.

“Snow-Simon, what are you doing?” I ask in protest as I find myself suddenly in the bathroom against my will.

“It’s the only room without cameras, so we can discuss our plan for tonight’s challenge!” he stage whispers, his demeanor flipping from flirtatious to serious.

“Well there’s not much of a plan to be had, is there? We just have to sleep in the same bed. Hardly difficult,” I shrug.

“I think we oughta have some plan,” he pouts and sticks out his bottom lip. I want to take in between my teeth.   


I sigh. “I’m going to get our pajamas. I’ll be right back,” I excuse myself from the bathroom and quickly grab the clothes laid out for us by the maids.   


When I return, Snow is seated on the rim of the bathtub. He looks up when he hears me open the door.  I hand him his clothes and he takes them. Snow starts to strip and I blush, forcing myself to look away.    


I do, however, take advantage of this opportunity to follow suit and strip as well. I hurriedly dress but find that, when I look up, Snow has chosen not to put on any of the pajamas and stands there in his boxers. Without his shirt on I can see that the blush on his cheeks extends down his neck and fades away on his chest. It makes me blush right back.

“Snow, why aren’t you wearing your clothes?” I ask trying to force my voice to sound as calm as possible (it doesn’t really work). Mentally, I make a note that I’m not such a fan of drunk-Snow. 

But, unfortunately, my dick is. His legs and torso are on full display and it’s a challenge for me to stay focused on his face. 

Although he sometimes chose not to wear a shirt, I had never seen him without trousers and his thighs are extremely distracting. It takes all of my willpower to stay concentrated on his face.

“Sex sells, baby,” He says and a playful smile spreads across his lips. My heart jumps and skips a beat (I know he wasn’t calling _me_ baby, but my brain and my heart don’t tend to draw the same conclusions).  
“Snow, we’re sleeping together, not _sleeping together,_ ” I point out. _Up for the latter, though, if you are._   
“Yeah, but I bet those judges are perverted little shits that’ll love to see this,” he shrugs and motions up and down to his nearly naked body. I roll my eyes but I conceal a laugh nonetheless.   
“In fact,” he says, changing tone, and walks closer to me. 

His movements are languid and sluggish and I have no idea what to expect. It’s like being hunted by an alligator. 

He extends his arms and places his hands on my waist, at the spot where my shirt ends and my trousers begin. Snow stares intently at my waist and pushes his thumbs underneath the hem of my shirt. His thumbs are on my bare skin and I can’t breathe. 

I can feel my heart pound so loud it echoes in my ears, so loud I can’t hear my thoughts. So loud a war could go on and I would stay here, in this moment, with Simon Snow. Blood rushes to my face and I feel hot. 

His hot breath so close to me. 

_ He’s _ so close to me. 

So close.

He meets my gaze from behind hooded eyelids. I try to tell my arms to push him away or my legs to step back, but my limbs don’t respond to my brain's valiant efforts to remove myself from the situation. 

It’s not just the fact that his hands are holding me still but I’m paralyzed from fear and confusion and arousal.   
“In fact,” Snow repeats, “you should probably take this off.” He twists his hands and starts fiddling with the hem. His knuckles brush against the sensitive skin on my hip. Snow makes a move to try to tug off my shirt me but only succeeds in pulling me closer ( _so close_ ). Our chests bump and I feel like I’m going to cry.  
“Alright, okay!” I concede before my face sets on fire or my emotions overcome my sensibilities (or worse, he feels my semi-hard dick). “I’ll take it off. Now get off of me, you oaf,” I try to insult him but it doesn’t quite stick the landing. He smiles and steps back.   
My heart is running laps around my ribcage and I know there’s a nice blush forming on my neck. I push my irrational panic down and slide out of my shirt.   
“There. Happy?” I say, waving my discarded shirt in the air.  
“Very,” he nods, “By the way, I’m the big spoon,” Snow says, pecking my cheek sweetly on his way out. I know he just did it to get a rise out of me but instead, it just makes me want to kiss him even more. I’m not going to survive

 

* * *

 

When I leave the bathroom, Snow had already turned off all the lights and hopped into bed.

I can’t bring myself to join him, at least not yet, so instead, I sit at my desk and turn on the desk lamp. I turn it low so as not to disturb him. 

Snow looks more peaceful in my bed then I’ve ever seen him. The red and black of my gothic room doesn’t match him (I put him in that other room for a reason) and makes him stand out stupendously but still, he manages to look ethereal. 

I can see his golden curls splayed out on the pillow. His tawny skin glows brilliantly in the sliver of moonlight the gap in the curtains leaks. His back is turned to me and I can see his muscles move with every deep intake of breath. 

I sigh in defeat (of what I lost I’m not quite sure) and bring my thoughts back to myself. I pull out my pen and begin editing my speech further. The words on the page are blurry and move like waves. I can barely focus on the task at hand but I force all my remaining energy into it. 

Suddenly, I feel Snow’s arms wrap around me. One drapes across my chest while the other is gently gripping the wrist that’s holding the pencil. Snow rests his chin on my shoulder and it digs in painfully ( I don’t complain). 

“Baz, it’s late,” Snow whispers. His head is turned so that his lips are pressed against my neck and I can feel his words on my skin. “Come to bed.”

I check the time and find myself surprised to see that it’s almost one in the morning. It feels like it was eleven only five minutes ago. At this point, I really have no choice but to join Snow. I can't push this off forever. 

“Alright, let's go to bed,” I whisper back. Snow untangles himself from me and leads me by the hand. 

Snow climbs into the bed first and I silently curse my bed for being so tall as I join him. We’re facing each other and Simon pulls me closer to him. Our faces are inches apart from each other. His nose brushes mine and his eyes flutter open and closed. His breath is heavy and warm and smells like wine. It’s an off-putting smell and I want to pull away.

I don’t, though.

Neither does Simon. In fact, he does quite the opposite. 

He leans forward and places a quick peck on my lips. 

He does it too quickly for me to react. 

“You taste like wine,” I tell him.

“Probably,” He agrees. “Turn around,” he instructs and I do as he says. I’m past the point of questioning (we passed that point a long time ago. The moment Snow sat down in that interview. The moment he stuck out his hand and said "Hi, my name is Simon").

He doesn’t hesitate to pull my back flush against his chest and wrap an arm around me. Even though I’m taller than him, Snow makes a pretty good big spoon, if I do say so myself.

With the hand not wrapped around my waist, he plays with my hair, twirling it and twisting it in his fingers. It’s been a while since someone played with my hair and I had forgotten how good it felt. I have to physically restrain myself from moaning, which is entirely embarrassing but what part of this process hasn’t been? 

“Should you be working on those documents here? With all the cameras?” Snow asks quietly. His fingers are still playing with my hair and the thumb on my waist has begun to rub up and down. 

“It’s just my address to the public for tomorrow,” I tell him. It takes a lot out of me to keep my voice steady. 

Snow hums in response and our conversation ends, leaving us both in silence. 

After a while, Snow stops movement with his hands and kisses the base of my neck gently before placing a few more kisses in my shoulder and upper arm. I can’t tell if he’s doing it because he’s an amazing actor or simply because he’s just tired and delirious. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe everything combined (hopefully the second thing. Realistically... not).

Either way, he manages to force a hum out of me despite my vast efforts to restrain myself. My noise of approval encourages him and he begins to suck on the top of my shoulder where it meets my neck. I briefly think of how this will probably leave a mark and people will see it before remembering that people are watching us right now or, if not now, then they will be later. I’m unnerved by the thought. 

Simon’s lips bring me back to reality, back from my thoughts, when he finishes giving me a hickey with a small popping noise. It leaves my skin feeling warm.

“Goodnight, Baz,” he whispers into my ear. 

“Goodnight, love,” I tell him and I fall asleep faster than I have in a very long time.

  
* * *

 

The next morning I wake up still encased in Snow’s arms. I quickly slip out of his grasp and run to the bathroom. My shower is hurried and I waste no time getting ready to face the day.

I quickly dress in a basic button-down and slacks. 

God, I still have to work on my speech. I give it in less than two hours and I haven’t had time to refine it beyond what I started last night, which was, to be generous, unsuccessful.

I emerge from the bathroom to find Snow waiting patiently outside the door. I step aside to allow him through and he brushes by without a word. That’s fine. The less words there are between us, the less awkward I can make things. 

We will have to talk to each other more at some point, though.

Snow’s shower gives me another good twenty minutes to work on my speech. I really don’t want to do this. But I have to. This just overall sucks. 

I get that the Mage wants to rule, but couldn’t he do it the normal way? With armies and treaties and using Simon Snow as his pawn to finally rid the world of me. It would be so much easier. Snow and I would have a good duel, but he would, in the end, go off and cause my demise. Maybe his, too. 

What does it say about me, that these are my daydreams?

Bloodshed and war instead of pretending to pretend to love Simon Snow.

I’m like a bloody Shakespeare tragedy come to life.

But even those have a moral, an ending that makes sense. The protagonist doesn’t always win and it’s not always a happy ending but there's always a lesson to be learned. 

The only happy ending I see for everyone is Simon Snow finally ridding the world of me.

End his suffering, and my own.


End file.
